Rust and Stardust
by Wraithlike
Summary: Nurse Cally DeChangy rejoins Starfleet after a personal tragedy with trepidation. What with drunken make-out sessions with her crotchety superior officer, tagging after her idiot brother, guarding evil overlords and generally trying to come to terms with her new status as a coward, it seems that she couldn't have picked a worse time. Danger and intrigue abound!
1. Prologue

**It is 2257, a year before James T. Kirk will take the helm of the Enterprise during a clash with Nero.**

Callista DeChangy had always been the sparky, confident one among the nurses. She could hold her own in any situation with any dissenting patient, or keep the good graces of an overseeing doctor with a smile and a joke. She was unflappable, scoffing, amusing and inarguably well-intentioned.

**It is 2257, and Leonard McCoy is waiting for his Academy days to end, so his life's work can begin.**

She was the cheeky, popular nurse who got what she wanted with a hair flick and a few well-timed, incontrovertible facts – something which people laughingly called 'a deadly combination'.

**It is 2257, and Callista DeChangy, recently of Riverside, Iowa, thinks she has this and every other world at her feet.**

It had came as something of a surprise when she discovered that on top of all of these positive, acceptable, workable traits, she was also, unexpectedly, a coward.

* * *

**It is 2257. And the Farragut is a ship in flames.**

Years of Starfleet training had somehow not prepared her for _this_. As the ship juddered in a way entirely new to her beneath the study black boots which had seen her through so much, Cally found herself shamefully pressed to the wall, unable to bring herself to answer a call to arms or to simply run to any perceived safety. She was simply – stuck. Crew members whose faces she knew well were running past her down the corridor, not stopping to shame her for her weakness, or to drag her along on their tide of desperation. She stared at them as they ran past, her mouth dry and her heart rattling in her ribcage like a ringing alarm clock.

'There's a fire! FIRE!' someone was screaming down the corridor; species, age, and sex indeterminable beneath the soot and rips and blood. A _fire_? What was _happening_? How had the ship gone from 0 to catastrophe in so short a space of time? With supreme effort, Cally peeled an arm from the wall and her stomach lurched sickeningly at the thoughts of her future.

Sweat was damp in her tawny hair , down her back and making her hands slick and useless.

'We need a doctor!' someone else called down the hall, their voice faint among the rest of the noise, but she still heard it. She was trained to hear it. The rest of her body shrugged itself from the wall with a graceless lunge and she stood on shaky calves legs, eyes massive with fear in a sweat-streaked face. Being a nurse in Star Fleet had never meant disaster to her before. It had meant injuries and panic at times, but never casualties and flames. Wards and most importantly, _order._

_Go, Cally, go, this is your job_, a voice was urging her in her head but something squeamish had seized hold of her at this crucial moment and it wasn't until she heard an agonized plea for help that her stumbling legs could regain some strength and propel her towards the scene. It was just as awful as she had expected.

Engineering looked like a war zone, full of electrical fires and wires hanging like streamers from every battered console. People were either running or bleeding, and there didn't seem to be room for anyone who wasn't engaged in one or the other. It was with a sense of wonder that Cally found herself beginning to tremble, and could just find enough control over her mind to hate herself for it.

'Please,' someone moaned and there it was – the blissful switch into autopilot which she had been waiting for since the emergency began. There wasn't a single thought skittering across her brain unrelated to her task at hand, binding limbs, giving medication, barking orders at orderlies and spreading whatever burn lotion she could find on the worst victims. Nurse Cally would complete her task as capably as she always did. The private loathing would come later, she promised herself.

An empty promise, as it turned out. Cally would remember the scene every day of her life, but she could never be quite sure about it. Had this been the moment her adult life had begun, or simply the moment that she began living it? A voice croaking her name, the endless seconds as she dropped a bundle of bandages and cast desperately about to find the man whose voice urged her closer. The new, cold sweat springing up on her neck and face and torso. The noise of the disaster dimming in her ears, and then, the moment – pure, blind, screaming fear when she finally found him. Her Jack.

Broken glass cut her knees as she dropped to the ground at his side, which would leave scars for good. Her hands swept gentle as butterflies across his chest, the evidently crushed sternum, the chalky face. The humming, inconceivably massive realisation that even with her years of training, the best technology they had and whatever steely resolve she could muster, she couldn't fix him. The thought spun dizzily in her mind as she looked at him, his familiar brown eyes and shaggy hair, a face aged years by this pain.

'Cally,' he managed again, with an edge of relief, even as she saw blood awash on his teeth and her breathing began to stutter along with his. She remembered his baby teeth, if that could make any kind of desperate difference.

'I'm here, Jack,' she returned, her voice choked up to its highest pitch, her hands gently roving his face, his shoulders, a scream building inside her all the while. Jack opened his mouth again and gurgled his final words, with his sweet, tired eyes grateful for hers.

'Thank you,' he managed, blinking up at her, even as something in them began to dull and a shuddery, final breath was in and out, for good, before she could fully make sense of it.

'Jack?' she tried, blankly.

'Jack?' she tried again, shaking his shoulders as much as she dared, eliciting no response. She drew back just a fraction, to look at his face and feel his pulse and convince herself that before her was the dead body of Jack Mahony. The air was acrid in her lungs, the noise unending and everywhere, but she neither saw nor heard a single thing over the gasps that were her breath or the pumping which was still her heart and not his. She was conscious, looking at him, of the scream still growing inside her, and as it finally burst out of her, taking form in his name, she reached the edge of the cliff in her mind, and felt herself slip over without a whisper of argument or complaint.

Cally DeChangy was 21, and her first taste of death would colour the rest of her life. It was the first time that she realised that she was a nurse who had failed, when it mattered the most.

**It is 2257, and Callista DeChangy is declared Unfit for Duty. Other lives go on, but not hers. It will be 2259 before life begins again.**

**She waits.**

* * *

**A/N: Just putting this out as a bit of a test to see how it goes down. This chapter is set one year before the Enterprise encounters the Romulans; an episode which will shoot James T. Kirk to fame. Cally, a nurse on the Farragut is about to discover a revelation which will send her spinning back to Iowa, where people expect less from her. She'll be dragged back to action however soon enough, by the entreaties of her idiot brother and curiosity about the strange new people present in her Star Fleet. And then there's that thing with McCoy, and of course, they're all about to blast Into Darkness ... well. No such thing as a boring workday, anyway. **


	2. Part 1 : Chapter One

**Part 1 : The Dusty Iowa Plains**

* * *

**It is 2259, and the wait is almost over.**

Winona glanced anxiously out of the window across the wide open Iowa plain. The sun was setting, crimson flaming, and the wind had a slight chill on it. A change in the air, she had heard on the news. Maybe a storm on the way. Or maybe just her wildly over-active imagination – it always flared up when she was feeling on edge.

'I'm sure that Cally will be here in a few minutes,' her son James assured his small audience, carelessly. Winona shot him a piercing look.

'Come on. They're working her to death in that place,' she sighed, her brow furrowing suddenly, before she remembered herself and turned to her son and his guest, with the Southern courtesy as much a part of her bones as her breeding.

'Some tea, James? Mr. Spock?'

James T. Kirk was leaning dangerously backwards on one of the pine dining chairs in his mother's kitchen, turned towards the work-area. His first mate Spock was sitting stiffly next to him, very silent. He looked politely at the woman offering him a beverage.

'No, thank you. I wouldn't indulge at such an hour,' he nodded. Kirk shot him a disgusted look.

'Stop being such an old lady, and have some tea,' he demanded paradoxically, and Spock blinked in offence. Kirk ignored him and turned to beam at his mother.

'Yeah, hit me. And one for my buddy, too,' he told her, as if daring Spock to argue. The half-Vulcan sighed, a long-suffering sigh, but made no move to protest. Winona smiled, and was just setting their old-fashioned kettle on the hob when a noise caught her attention.

'Oh!' she started, peering down the worn road outside. From down the drive came the sudden unmistakeable purr of an engine. Winona's ever-beautiful face relaxed, and she arranged the kettle peaceably, a smile settling happily across her features.

'She didn't know you were coming, James,' Winona emphasized, wanly. She shook out her sandy hair.

'I didn't want to set her up for any possible disappointment, you know …after last time …'

His mother trailed off, but her meaning was implicit. He had missed Cally's 21st, two and half years ago, after a very assured promise, and before things had started to go wrong. He had thought he could swing it and pay her a visit, but he had been wrong, and hadn't yet made it up to her.

And he wasn't naïve enough to think he didn't have to make up for it. Girls were all capricious and all the same. Especially the ones you wouldn't think to be. Cally was as sunny natured as anyone but she could be a hellcat when riled.

James stood up, his chair scraping the tiles of the floor. Spock eyed him suspicious, and moved to do the same. He was a creature of habit, and when in a different situation, liked to mimic the behaviours of those around him. James rumpled his own sandy mop and took a few steps towards the door, as the motor roared and died in the yard.

'Be prepared,' his mother advised, looking up shrewdly from the biscuits she was arranging on a plate. James grinned, threw open the door and sauntered out to the sight before him.

Callista, a tawny haired young woman, with blue eyes, and smooth, densely freckled skin was shaking the dust of the road off her clothes, her bike leaning in a haphazard manner on its stand. She was slender, dressed in ankle boots, a khaki skirt, a peachy shirt open over a tank top and pulling a green scarf off her head, specks of dirt floating about her. Pretty in a gentle, natural way.

James didn't say a word, waiting for her to turn to the door, capturing the twinkling in her eyes and returning it with the twinkle in his own, laughing at her cry of surprise and rushing toward in tandem with her to capture her in his arms and spin her around, half-siblings with the closeness of twins. A closeness truly born out of necessity.

She laughed like there had never been anything funnier, over-excited, her smile too wide and happy to be classically beautiful, Spock supposed, her nose scrunching with mirth, her hair messy, eyeliner smeary. Imperfectly perfect. She opened her mouth and words spilled out in warm American tones.

'_Jim_! What're you _doing_ here? You could have _called, _I would've skipped work! Ugh, Tibs, you're such a dork!'

'And RUIN the surprise? Yeah, because that's like me,' James grinned patronizingly down at her. She rolled her eyes, before the grin cracked even wider at the corners of her mouth.

How long are you staying?'

James shrugged.

'We're staying about a week?'

Her eyes widened.

'We? _Did you bring a girl?_' a spark leaped to light. James chuckled.

'Close enough. I'd like to introduce my first mate, Mr. Spock.'

Spock had been standing in the doorway for this exchange making judgements on this sibling of James' whom he previously been unaware existed. Thus far he had concluded the following: a) that Tibs was clearly a nickname for James T. Kirk, b) that this sibling though sharing genetic qualities was clearly only a half sister, c) that she looked very familiar.

She turned her dark blue eyes to Spock and both made the connection at once.

'Mr. Spock!'

'Ms. DeChangy.'

There she was, a student of alien languages in the academy, years ago. A promising student. A student who had graduated well. One with … promise.

_Why was she still here?_

Promising students didn't get left behind. This was all highly unusual. Students like DeChangy went on to crew ships, to work for the good of the galaxy. She had shown more than promise, she had shown initiative, talent, intuition. She had been a sure-fire member of the force – one who would blossom into a valuable asset.

His last memories of her, when he thought back, had been her hanging back after a class, her uniform neat, her hair pulled sharply back, her skin paler, largely bereft of the freckles which now defined it. She had been asking questions – intelligent questions – about the species they were studying. Her blue eyes bright and black lashes making them look like a sky at home. She had passed with honour, gone on to study elsewhere.

She looked different now.

She smiled shyly at up at him, extending a hand which he shook quickly.

'You two know each other?' James asked in disbelief.

'Mr. Spock was my teacher in the Academy,' Cally summarised, subdued all of a sudden, turning to her brother jerkily. She smiled quietly, the same way Winona did, as James slipped an arm over her shoulder and led her into the house.

'You poor thing,' he muttered sympathetically, making her giggle, and raising his eyebrows at Spock, who quirked one in return.

James' mother looked more like her daughter than son, Spock realised. He had seen the files and it was true – James truly was George Kirk's image. His mother's softer features sprang to life on the face of his sister.

Spock passed over watching the siblings to study instead Winona's face. To catalogue the joy shining there and classify it as being wholly due to her children together at last. Truly a mother's pride. For a man who had lost his mother before he truly appreciated her, it was a difficult, mesmerising sight.

The joy was his mother's face in duplicate.

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**A/N: Another chapter for the moment, for the craic. :) Please review to tell me thingz because your words are always magical.**


	3. Chapter Two

**Night falls. Spock is left to wonder. The sun will rise when the morning comes, and tomorrow will be a different day.**

* * *

The chatter went on until midnight, when even Cally had to admit, after much yawning and protestations to the contrary, that she should get some sleep before her shift in the morning. Spock was put up in the spare room, having been directed there by Winona after the tea had been cleared away. He grasped the brass door knob and pushed the pine door open firmly, to meet the indigo eyes of James T. Kirk's half sister; a look reproachful and piercing, but, he suddenly realised as surprise spread across her features, a look not meant for him.

'Oh! Mr. Spock. Please excuse me. I was just –' She looked down at the blankets in her arms and sighed, smiling wryly. 'Well, it gets cold in here at night. Care to give me a hand?'

Spock grabbed her no-nonsense tone like it was a lifeline; there was something earthy and grounded about it. A tone which brokered no argument.

He grasped the rough wool blanket and with a snap they laid it over the light sheets. She pushed her corn coloured hair back and wrinkled her nose, flitting to the window and throwing it open. She paused a moment overlooking the plains before her, a breath caught in her throat. She half turned, her face in profile over her white shirted shoulder, an expectant smile on her face.

'Have you stayed in Iowa before, Mr. Spock?'

Spock straightened even more, clasping his hands behind his back.

'No, I have not. Captain Kirk was kind enough to offer his home for a visit.'

'Look out here,' she suggested, her voice soft. He crossed to stand beside her, standing close enough that the scent of prairie dust and vanilla on her skin were tangible to him. The moon over the fields cast a benevolent light; all airy and empty and full of promise. A silent, still night.

'It's truly beautiful,' she whispered.

'That it is,' he agreed, hesitating momentarily.

'You will no doubt be aware that Vulcan was destroyed, Ms. DeChangy.'

Her face became solemn, and she ducked her head a moment to rub her nose – a kind of awkward cloaking device. Unused to the topic.

'I did indeed hear that sad news,' she admitted, and when she looked up, her eyes had a quiet sympathy in them.

'Earth is now the only home I have left. I have never spent time here. I appreciate more than I can say this chance your brother has given me to learn about your cultures and customs.'

She studied him momentarily, a shrewd expression twisting her mouth by degrees.

'That's all stuff from books,' she said, bluntly, shaking her head. Her honey hair shifting and glimmered in the soft electric light.

'You won't learn about a place from those, no matter how hard you study. If you want to see the real, true, gritty Iowa, you have to walk those plains, talk to the people. Hunt a few deer, and make some mistakes. That's life, here.'

Pride shone in her eyes and suddenly Spock was seized with the most irrational desire to ask her why she had left Starfleet. He quelled it, and managed to nod.

'Very definite advice. Thank you, cadet,' he said, without thinking. He noticed his mistake immediately, but bar a tightening around her eyes she didn't seem perturbed.

'Actually, it's Nurse,' she said, breezily, as she left the room, smiling blandly. 'Goodnight, Mr. Spock.'

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**A/N: Updating and updating, what a novelty for me! ;) May as well update while I can, chapters are quite short. Reviews are worshipped and stared at for hours and hours in a kind of grateful stupor, so please tell me what you think. k thnx bai ;)**


	4. Chapter Three

**Sun-up and duties shock Spock, lost in thoughts of Academy days.**

* * *

When Spock got up early the next morning, she was already up at the breakfast table, wearing a striped dress with a name patch sewed onto the chest, spelling 'Cally' in curly red letters. A waitress uniform. Her cracked leather satchel bag was packed and by her chair, her eyes even more tired than they had appeared last night.

'Good morning,' she said, courteously, her smile pinched. Rays of sunlight spliced her, creating interesting shadows and showing a slenderness on her bones which didn't indicate health.

'Good morning,' Spock returned, inclining his head respectfully. A true smile escaped her, and her nose crinkled a little – at his formality, he supposed.

'Do you like toast?' she asked him, moving around to the countertop. A quick search of his mental catalogue came up blank.

'Toast?' he repeated, feeling a little lost. A frequent feeling, recently.

'Yeah … bread, heated so that it's toasted?'

He stared, feeling irrationally panicked, an impassive expression on his face. She fought back the smile, and gestured that he should sit down.

'I can't help it, I _do _love looking after people. I think you'll like it; I remember when we were kids mom would have to put the jam on the top shelf so Jim couldn't get at it … Course, he had out-stripped her in the height stakes by the time he was about twelve, so she had to just leave him to it! I swear, I've not an idea how he still had teeth. He ate such sugary junk when we were kids … and mom STILL puts the jam on the – top – shelf …'

She struggled on her toes to reach the little jar, wavering as she touched down. Suddenly Spock could see the similarities clearly between the siblings. James was more fluid in his movements, while she was jerkier; like a young animal, with some flinching memory of an attack. But she had the same shift in her shoulders, and something Uhura had pointed out to him … It seemed that Kirk had a particular brand of conceited hair flick which had every female member of the crew sighing and melting into the floor (even Uhura herself, he suspected …) . It was replicated almost exactly in this sister. She skulked from one end of the kitchen to the other, throwing her hair behind her one handed, so that her fingers separated the golden strands in such a way that he had to follow it with his eyes.

He noticed that he really did find her quite attractive, and marvelled at it. A sibling of Captain Kirk's – and here he was, with no murderous intent or even seeping disapproval. Remarkable.

She stalked the kitchen, chattering amiably, and he thought back on her words of before. A nurse. She had gone to the medical branch and succeeded. A nurse. Nurses were something in demand – making it even more odd that she wasn't working as one at the moment. She could only be quite young – it was prestigious enough to be accepted to the academy, and to be graduated already at her age … it all pointed to suspicious circumstances that she wasn't working already.

He remembered her as a student again. Neater. Quiet in the class, with none of that hunted look outside of it, devoid of the languid chatter she must have picked up in her latest employment. An intelligent sparkle in her eyes and a questioning look. He tried to remember any friends she may have had, but drew a blank – but popular. Her type always were. He was startled when she pushed a plate under his nose; a steaming pile of golden bread, dripping with butter and strawberry preserve. She winked mischievously as she grabbed her bag, and pulled on a heavy leather jacket over her short dress.

'Enjoy, Mr. Spock. I have to work the breakfast shift, my mom should know the drill … I'll be seeing you later. I hope James will look after you.'

She disappeared out of the quaint door with a bang. Spock waited a moment but couldn't stop himself from crossing to the window in time to see her kicking the stand out from under her bike, kicking it started and leaping on. She took off in a squeal of rubber and dust, speeding onto the highway.

'She's some girl, isn't she,' Jim's voice floated from behind Spock. He turned lightening fast, and glared at Jim, who was leaning comfortably against the counter, his shoulders hunched, nursing a mug of coffee.

'How did you get there?'

James shrugged the question off.

'If you've got the hots for my sister, you're wasting your time. She's not interested. I will give you that answer _now._'

Spock looked outraged; and James hid his smile in his coffee.

'I have no feelings of the kind for your sister. I am in a serious relationship with Nyota. That is all.'

'Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you …' James teased, tossing the cup aside. Spock was about to retort when Winona opened the door gently. She looked hesitant when she spied Spock and Kirk in the middle of a confrontation.

'I hope I'm not interrupting anything …' she hedged, gently. She was a pretty, slightly faded woman, willowy and tender, with Cally's bright eyes and a firmness through her gentle ways.

'Not at all, mother,' James declared jovially, plonking a kiss on her cheek, as she swatted him away laughing. He winked at Spock, who couldn't find it in himself to keep the feeling of annoyance. How could you, with someone as impossible as James T. Kirk?

'Come on,' James was saying, slapping Spock forcefully on the shoulder, 'I'll take you around some of the best haunts Iowa has to offer.'

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**A/N: The amount of updates are TOO DAMN HIGH. D:**

Whatever, have at them, but please tell me what you think of them! I give my gracious thanks to Cuckoo on a String, because you are fab and give me encouraging words. :)

If you like it, please let me know! Or even if you don't - let me know then, too. Like, please. #desperation


	5. Chapter Four

**Blood on her hands before she even notices. Spock thinks that t****hey call moments like this the 'last chance saloon'.**

* * *

Exhausted after hours of Southern pleasantries and running between the kitchen and old-fashioned booth seats of the diner, it seemed oddly appropriate when Cally returned that afternoon that she would find Jim sitting at the kitchen table, his shirt in a bloody heap at his feet, his back cut open, the wounds stretching to his face, and an aggravated Spock with her first aid kit open on the table, trying to figure out where to start.

'Christssakes Jim. What did you do?'

She dropped her bag, shrugged the jacket onto the tiled floor and ran to quickly wash her hands, pushing her hair back from her face, and glaring at her brother, all in quite a feat of multi-tasking. Jim was too busy wincing into a quarter pounder to reply, so Spock took over.

'He was insistent on showing me some particularly spectacular scenery, but unfortunately in doing so crashed the off-road vehicle. I escaped with minor damage but the Captain appears to have suffered a good deal.'

'Yeah, and I'll bet he deserves every single scratch –Jim, do you _never_ learn? You're been here for about half a minute after who knows how long in space and of _course, _you _would _have to damage yourself on my watch … Sometimes I think you do it on purpose to show how hard you are … I don't know how your crew put up with you; honestly, I've never met a bigger _blockhead_ in all of my days –'

'Ouch! God, that stings!'

'GOOD! I'm _glad_!' she cried, savagely, as she ever-so-gently sponged the warm antibacterial solution into every branch of the gash, with economical swipes, leaving a clean surface. She rifled deftly through her bag and came up with a couple of pills. Punching them out into a glass of water, she stirred it momentarily and thrust it at Jim.

'Drink.' She ordered, and despite the horror in his electric eyes, he did as he was told. She was still muttering angrily as she threaded a needle and turned to her brother, harassed. She could have hated him for this, if she had the proper presence of mind. She shot him an irritated look instead.

'Lie. On the table. Now.'

'What the –'

'This isn't a Sick Bay, pouty, and I'm trying to patch you up the best I can! Now get on that table and _stop giving me sass_!' she raged, and it would take a better man than Kirk to defy her. He obeyed with a groan, yelping when he felt the needle puncture his skin. Spock stared at the fevered change in her. Where had the measured, laid back girl of the morning disappeared to? There was something almost frightening in the desperation he was now witness to.

'Sorry. That'll fade in a moment. I don't have the salve I normally use, but what I just gave you should do a good enough job,' she said, distractedly, as she neatly sewed up the wound in his back, with hands used to the task. The bleeding had stopped with whatever she had brushed onto it.

His face went slacker as she went on.

'Damn it, Cally, what did you give me?' he mumbled sleepily. She glanced down at him and back to her flying fingers, the serious focus on her face an odd juxtaposition with her cheerful uniform.

'A mild anaesthetic. One of the only things you're not allergic to. I read your records.'

He moaned.

'It's like McCoy Mark 2 …' he slurred, closing his eyes. She looked confused, glancing to Spock for explanation.

'McCoy is one of the Senior Medical Officers aboard the Enterprise. A good friend of your brothers, also, I believe,' he clarified. Cally nodded, hardly caring, her eyes zooming in on the cut on Spock's temple.

'I'll take a look at you next,' she assured him, seeming calmer. 'It's just that my idiot of a brother seems in worse shape than you do,' she said, knotting the end of the wound neatly, a reaching for a ready-prepped gel-like solution and applying it liberally over his back. She swiped the flesh-coloured bandage over it, securing it deftly with a bandage and moved quickly to his face, repeating the process but without sewing anything.

'It's not a bad wound, actually,' she amended aloud. 'It's not going to scar. Though if it did, it might cure him of his God-awful vanity …'

He roused when she shook him and managed to get him up, with Spock's assistance. She directed him to a couch in the parlour where they put him lying on his chest.

She thought for a moment, shifting from foot to foot before darting out again and coming back, snapping a phial onto a hypospray.

'Jim, this is a gentle sedative. It's going to aid your healing, but knock you out. Don't panic.'

She jabbed him quickly. He squawked angrily.

'I – hate – you …' he moaned, drifting into unconsciousness.

'Yeah,' she said, quietly, adjusting the knot in the bandage solicitously, 'I know!'

Peace.

She watched her brother for a moment, and Spock could read on her face a trace of wistfulness, but she brushed it quickly aside to shepherd him into the kitchen. She sat him down and cleaned him up, looking with interest at the green blood she had swiped from his forehead. It was odd to see this woman, so precise and methodical about her medical practise bending over him, buttoned into her baby blue uniform, a whisper away from pink bubblegum and winks.

'I'm sorry I don't have my own medical kit with me,' she said, evenly, her swipes gentle and careful. 'Just the first aid kit my mom has had since the Ark was built.'

'It makes no difference to me,' Spock assured her, though she still looked disapproving.

She patched him up thoroughly, and washed the blood from her hands in the sink.

'I'm also sorry my idiot brother is allowed to boss you around,' she went on, packing up her instruments neatly, her hands reluctantly fitting them back into place. 'I was hoping you'd have some nice memories of your time in Iowa, but I should have known that with Jim around, it'd be a miracle for you to just have a _nice vacation_. The thought of him in charge of a whole spaceship …'

'Your brother, though inherently flawed, is a remarkably adept Captain,' Spock allowed grudgingly. She faltered, scrutinizing his dark eyes.

'Okay. How much is he paying you?'

Spock recognised the humour, a time Dr. McCoy often employed, and smiled obligingly.

She snapped the clips shut and pushed the kit into the cupboard where it resided, pensive.

'I should really collect my kit from Starfleet … Just in case …'

She trailed off, her voice far away. Spock felt awkward interrupting her.

'Your brother and I need to report to Starfleet later on today, Nurse DeChangy,' he ventured, after a pause. She blinked, and returned at once.

'Oh, oh course. He should be right as rain in about two hours,' she smiled, and turned to habitually cleaning the table with disinfectant. She didn't like to stand still, Spock had noticed. There was something automatic about her movements which she seemed to find comforting, and she darted about the room cleaning and sorting.

'What do you two have to do back at HQ?' she asked conversationally.

'Whatever needs to be amended,' he answered serenely. He was comfortable with this type of planning. Looking in on whatever was required, the political aspects of crew problems, while Kirk mucked in anywhere and everywhere. He was everyman, which was why the crew admired him so greatly. It was difficult not to admire Kirk, Spock reluctantly admitted.

'I'll bet he's a hindrance,' she chipped in amicably. Spock blinked. She smiled, her eyes crinkling again.

'Jim, I mean. He always has been. Always in trouble, since he was a kid. Now, don't get me wrong, I was just about as proud as anyone had a right to be when he became a captain, and got all of those commendations – _so _proud. And I still am – but a lot of the time I'm just like, 'Wow! Jim's a captain! … but … he's such a kid!''

'That he is, Nurse DeChangy,' Spock agreed, ruefully, and she laughed.

'It's Cally, please,' she corrected, genially. He glanced up, surprised.

'There's no nurses here, at the moment, anyway,' she said, tiredly, before she thought the better of it, and turned to him. Pleasant.

'Only waitresses, working in dives.'

She winked, just as he had expected, and turned back to the surface before her, golden hair glimmering in the afternoon sunshine.

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**A/N: Phew, this was an annoying kind of chapter to edit, but, sure, here it is - but happy with how it's all looking, coming together nicely. Pleased!**

**Thank you for the follows, guys, and the favourite, and even reviews! I seriously appreciate it! Especially the reviews, totally caught in a big wave of joy when I saw I got three on the last chapter alone. :) So thank you to Cuckoo on a String again, and Rolodexthoughts, and also Almost Funny. HURRAY FOR YOU GUYS.**

**Please keep them coming as the joy they give me cannot be expressed by words, only gifs of Benedict Cumberbatch. If I had one, I would put it here.**

**Until next chapter, my friends.**


	6. Chapter Five

**Spock, silent witness, keeps his temper. Just.**

* * *

Spock didn't think it would look professional to hiss, 'Stop shuffling!' at his captain, which was the only reason why he didn't. James T. Kirk winced every time he moved, in abject discomfort. He knew Kirk would start grousing as soon as the engineer let him go. He turned to warn Kirk that this was his own fault in time to see his face light up.

'Bones!' he cried gladly. Spock turned to see Dr. McCoy opening the door of the space-age meeting centre Captain Kirk had been assigned. The engineer looked nervously between Kirk and the doctor, and gathered his papers quickly.

'Will that be all, Captain?'

Kirk barely spared him a glance.

'Yeah, sure thing, sounds great!'

The engineer kept his eyes downcast as he scuttled past Dr. McCoy on his way out. Spock reasoned with himself silently that James Kirk _did _in fact care a great deal about the technical aspects of the upkeep of the Enterprise, but perhaps he was distracted by his injuries. It was very important to remain _reasonable _when it came to James T. Kirk, even if it was often a struggle. McCoy glanced after the downcast engineer, his strong eyebrows pulled up in an expression of dislike.

'Well, I must be scarier than I thought – holy cow, Jim, what happened to you?' he exclaimed, stomping over to James and staring at the bandages on his face. Spock took a quick inventory of McCoy, already having ascertained that Kirk's injuries were not a cause for concern. The doctor seemed harassed, aggravated and struggling with his temper. From what Spock knew of Dr. McCoy, this was his state at rest.

'Slight motor vehicle accident; it's not a problem.'

'The captain's injuries were extensive on his back, requiring sixteen stitches,' Spock promptly reported. Kirk glared, McCoy stared, open-mouthed before shaking himself and stating, 'No one likes a tattle-tale. Take your shirt off, Jim.'

Jim groaned.

'Oh, Gawd, Spock, now look what you've done. _Thanks_. Look, Bones, I'm fine. I got stitched up –'

'_Take it off or I'll cut it off_! My God, man, you've got to be more careful!'

Jim grimaced, but acquiesced. He had learned that arguing with Bones merely wasted time and energy. He listened dutifully to Bones' exclamations of the severity of his injury, before a brief silence.

'Who patched you up, Jim?'

His voice was measured, curious, suddenly lacking in the berating tone it had borne earlier. James stumbled over his words, oddly hesitant in giving the truth. Cally's cold refusal to return to service was their private family concern. He worried.

'Well, I, uh – my – my sister; she's pretty good on medical stuff –'

'This has a Starfleet stamp all over it.'

'Yeah, well, she's a nurse. Trained here.'

'Hm. Don't remember any other Kirks,' Bones mused, not giving James a chance to explain. 'She did a damn fine job. The stitching is neat, and quite distinctive. Good choice of products – did she give you anything for inflammation?'

Kirk shook his head, and then thought the better of it, feeling the plaster on his back shift tightly.

'Nah, I'm allergic to it … Hysocatomanine.'

'Hyo … ?'

'He means hyoscyamine, a mild anaesthetic,' Spock filled in handily. 'That's what the captain was given.' James shot him a sharp, irritated look.

'Yeah. That's it,' he grudgingly admitted, sighing.

'Also a sedative,' Spock felt it necessary to report.

Bones nodded, finishing his examination, and dragging himself away reluctantly. Spock had noticed by now that he liked to know exactly what his patients had been treated with, who by, how, and when. It made him an excellent doctor, but a nightmare to his staff.

Leonard McCoy folded himself into a chair, surprisingly gracefully, his eyes still roving Kirk's bandaged forehead with interest.

'What's the news of the world, Bones?' James asked, with ease. McCoy's face pinched with worry, and he ran a hand through his dark, neatly parted hair.

'It's not great, Jim. I've lost a couple of medical officers to the lure of Earth life, and I'm having trouble replacing them. I've got one guy I think will do well, but he –'

McCoy broke off, glancing hesitantly at Spock, shrugging and turning back.

'He's a total douche-bag. Great officer, don't get me wrong, but he's a God damn kid.' McCoy rolled his eyes, and James gave a bark of laughter.

'Well, that's down to you, doc,' James delegated easily, with a characteristic swipe of his hand. McCoy's mouth twitched uneasily.

'Yeah. I know. Still. Your sister posted to another ship or something? Bradbury?' he asked, hopefully.

James only missed one beat, but in the moment of awkward silence, Spock revisited the sight of Callista DeChangy smiling over the sink in hopeless mediocrity.

'Something like that,' Kirk shrugged, still feeling unwilling to explain. And though Bones shot him an odd look, they continued the discussion down another vein and she wasn't brought up again.

* * *

**A/N:**** I just want to point out that I had a dream the other night where I was working in a high-class space-age office, and when I got back to my desk I found a bright orange file on it, and when I read it I totally freaked out, because it was my divorce papers for divorcing Leonard McCoy. And I was all like, 'aww, fuck, am I gonna go through with this?' so I got up and went out onto the roof terrace to feel the wind cooling my cheeks and then Dr. McCoy called me and he was like, 'Are you for real? I thought you were just kidding around with this!' and I was all like, 'OMG, Leonard, I'm sorry, I don't want to go through with it,' and he was like, all kindly, 'you've gotta stop kidding around, and start taking this seriously.' And I was ashamed. The dream then skipped on and it was my wedding day and I had just married someone else, and I was watching him play with kids on the beach (we got married in a blustery seaside location) and my dress was all blown about in white swathes but I didn't even care, and I just watched this other groom go about things in his own way and felt regret settle in the pit of my stomach like an old friend. **

** True story. I genuinely dreamed this.**

**Just had to share! Thank again to Cuckoo on a String who has been lovely with reviewing and interest, and I hope I answered your question. Thanks also to LOPE, that gave me a big boost - I usually hate 'em too, which is, oddly enough, exactly why I wrote this one.**

**Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think. :)**


	7. Chapter Six

**A moment for grief, before her story starts again.**

* * *

Spock was tall and broad, the kind of guy Cally honestly went for. Her own personal hell had been leaner, with longer hair and a cheeky grin. A band tied around his upper arm just because he liked that kind of Mick Jagger look. She could close her eyes for a billion years and his smile would dance behind the lids. Would he ever leave her? She thought not. He was the only one she could remember perfectly, through time and space and absence.

After the flurry of Jim's departure for Starfleet, Cally crept away, closing her bedroom door and sliding down it slowly, exhaling as she did so. She sat like that for a moment, revelling in the utter silence, listening to her heart beat dully, and glancing around her room. Just as she had left it.

Cream walls, velvet curtains in a mauve colour … a bed with the metal frame she had repainted white herself, covered in a matching purple throw, with fluffy cushions to ward off nightmares. A shelf stood opposite it, covered in knick-knacks; badges and porcelain puppies; jewellery boxes and hats; a whole host of ballet dancers in various attitudes. Teddy bears sat placidly on the top shelf, draped in costume jewellery that she couldn't bear to part with. Photographs. A row of them smiled at her, and suddenly she was dragging herself up to investigate them, on legs that felt shaky.

She ran a hand over the familiar faces … her, aged three, sitting on the knee of her mother who had had a sad face as long as Cally could remember; the sorrow hidden in her eyes, her hands clutching her small daughter close to her as if it could keep her there forever. Cally was a gap toothed, over excited little girl with platinum pigtails and freckles the size of quarters. Her hands trailed the glass to the silver frame of the next picture. She couldn't hold back the smile as she saw the characters in the next image. James was a teenager, a few years older than she was, pouting into the camera, making it the stiff portrait of two siblings. She was nine, her hands folded neatly on the skirt of her rose coloured dress, awash with frills and decorations. She was a little lady, from her neatly curled hair to her pristine white shoes. She wasn't smiling, instead she was looking solemnly out at the camera, her eyes as blue as James', though they would darken with the years. His suit was perfect too, even if he had a cut on his forehead, and his eyes were sulky. The Polaroid stuck into the frame showed the two as they normally were. She was sitting on James' lap, howling, tears flowing down her face while James, only about ten was holding her around the waist, laughing. His head was thrown back, mirth unmistakeable. They were always at odds, Callista and James.

There was one frame turned downwards, and she skipped over it. The next skipped forward some years; she was sixteen, and it was Christmas. Her mother had taken it, a picture in the snow of Warren and his daughter Callista picking out the Christmas tree. They were both swaddled in quilted jackets, their faces red from the cold, grinning widely. She could hardly keep her concentration over the next few, holiday snaps, old friends, piano recitals. An absence, where there should have been the missing photograph of her brother's commendation; the day he had been made captain. She had stood beside him in a blue dress, smiling proudly, with a face too pale and shaken to be looked at comfortably. They had never printed the pictures. Cally's face had been too full of ghosts.

It had been almost a year since then. And two long years since that fateful moment, when she had downed tools after the emergency was over and walked alongside his stretcher to the morgue. She had washed her hands and shook for what seemed like years. It seemed funny that her brother was the first to shock her into action, after all this time. She hadn't even noticed the instruments in her hand until she had looked down to see her fingers flying; doing what she did best. Fixing things. Fixing people. Fixing _Jim_, really.

That was Cally's lot. She was a peacemaker; a repairwoman. She picked people up, dusted them off and set them back on her feet. That was the deal, when you had parents like Cally's, who wanted what was best for you, and could only look longingly after their boy James, wasting his life and causing trouble. When you saw those sort of pained looks on your parents faces, and you heard their subdued, disappointed conversation from the time you could understand their words, you didn't really have a choice. You knew as a dutiful daughter that your future would have to be one which made them _proud_, because _one_ of you would have to take responsibility and there was no way it was going to be their beloved James.

So. That's what she had done, working quietly and conscientiously and planning her future. Of course, it hadn't all been books and servitude – Cally had fallen in line as she had been expected to, but she had found plenty of opportunities to stand out, too. And certainly, she had enjoyed her few moments in the sun, but they had never lasted, and she had never _expected _them to last. Ever since she was a little girl, Cally had watched from the sidelines, happiest cheering the people she loved on.

_I was Jack's biggest cheerleader_, she thought, suddenly. She waited for a pain; a stab to remind her why she never thought of him, but it didn't come. She merely felt the soft sadness sweeping through her, a sadness that had been so much worse in the beginning. The sadness that in the beginning had crippled her, the grief which had made rooms spin when she saw blood, and remembered.

A desire came whispering along with the sadness, surprising her. She hadn't felt one of the kind for so long that she didn't even consider denying it. She reached out along the shelf and plucked the overturned picture out of the line. When it rested on her lap, she steadied herself and turned it over, drinking in the colours and the unbridled joy shining in her eyes. She was sixteen, her hair flowing down her back, her cheeks flushed and her arms entwined around a boy a year or two older than she was. He was tall, wiry and muscular. Shaggy brown hair, a strong jaw, white, white teeth and dark honey brown eyes, grinning into the camera; his arms twined around her too. His life just about to start. They were heart to heart in the glare of the sun, dressed in summer clothes, faces full of promise. His name had been Jack, and through the years they had been best friends, companions. The term seemed meaningless for what they had been to each other. Flipsides of one coin, but he was gone, now.

He was made for the life he chose. She shouldn't cry for him.

And she mightn't have – if it wasn't her fault. If she hadn't been there, the one to feel the burden of his death rest squarely on her shoulders. She stared into his face for a long time, before carefully replacing it on her shelf, standing alongside the other photos. The sunset seared a line of fire down Cally's walls and suddenly it looked to her like the room of a child.

She had left at sixteen and been back only for two years since. She hadn't changed a thing. An homage to his memory. Surely that was unhealthy? Surely that was more the territory of grieving parents; of old widows? Of people incapable of moving on?

A whisper of fresh air blew through her open window, and an urge rose in her to unfold her legs and chase it across the fields as far as she could. Would the flight be coloured with memories of him? She didn't know.

* * *

**A/N: Last reflectiony chapter for a while, methinks. :)**

Thanks you again to Cuckoo on a String for your review, and I'll keep my eye out for any more crazy dreams of mine to tell you. ;) Also thank you to BaDWolF89 for your encouraging words, much appreciate it.

Just wanted to say hello to you lovely lurkers, lurking about and reading this -I have many times been a lurker, so I have a strange fondness for you. But if you ever want to put a review up to say what you think, sure wouldn't I love to read it? ;)


	8. Chapter Seven

**Jim tells the worst dad jokes - and Cally is swayed.**

* * *

'Knock knock.'

'Who's there?'

'Jim.'

'Jim who?'

'Jim mind if I come in?'

Cally looked over her shoulder, a rueful smile lighting her face and sighed theatrically.

'Not if you're any good at painting nails,' she said, waggling her left hand, fingernails all painted a perfect magenta. Jim shrugged, clambering onto her bed, despite her squawking and folded himself neatly cross-legged. She turned, and crossed her legs too, sitting opposite him so their knees brushed. She placed her hand on his knee, and he boyishly began jimmying the bottle of varnish open, a frown on his face – _women things_, she could practically hear him thinking. Her big, strong, unexpectedly _smart _brother.

She drank him in, more real now than he would be when he would leave and become yet again just a figure in a photo. His tanned skin, still tanned even though he was too often cooped up indoors. His bright eyes, lantern jaw and quick movements. The way he could glance up at you and seem to see through you right away. A lopsided grin formed on her face and she concentrated on vanishing it. How sentimental.

'So, how long until you're gonna leave us again?' she asked, playfully, as keeping with her character. It was funny, really - what had been acting for a long time suddenly felt real, and all because Jim was back home.

'Just a few days,' he answered absentmindedly. A cold flush ran through her. She had known this would be his answer, but impatient stirrings had been nagging at her since he had come back from his official trip with a few immortal words – 'Medical staff required …'.

'That's all …' she mused in a low voice. He caught the current in her words and looked up. Jim hadn't been excited to have a baby sister; she was just another reason why Warren couldn't leave; as if the wedding hadn't been enough. She had been small and squally and irritating; and worst of all, he had been expected to care for her. It had all been most humiliating.

But looking at her now, through more experienced, and potentially even wiser eyes, all he could feel was paternal worry and pride.

'Maybe you'll come with us,' he joked lightly. He only sobered slightly over the next words.

'They're still looking for a nurse, you know.'

She stared at her painted nails with stricter attention than was necessary.

'Don't think I haven't thought of it,' she said, and her voice was hoarse.

Jim couldn't believe it. He had been expecting a flat out refusal. He had only raised the subject once before, a year ago, while he surfed on a wave of glory and everything had seemed possible. She had been cold and mechanical in her refusal, and when he had pressed her, she had excused herself flatly. It was then that his mother had explained her behaviour and vow.

He waited.

'But it – I – I promised myself I'd never put myself in that position again.'

'You're a nurse by nature and qualification, Cally. It's no crime to go back to what you're best at.'

'Not – best. I failed.'

He let it pass. It was one point she was firm on. Instead he looked frankly up at her.

'It's serving the universe, Cally. It's bigger than you, or – anyone else.'

'It's bigger than Jack, you mean,' she said, quietly, surprisingly him again. He reached impulsively for her hand.

'Yeah. Yeah, I do. I know how you felt – we all lost him, Cally. But it's not a selfish choice. It's called living your life. Mom did.'

'I know she did. She's what I look up to. I have no idea how she does it,' Cally answered, slowly.

'How she could pick herself up like that. It's been two years; still feels like yesterday. I can't – put him – to rest.'

'She had a baby. She had _me_. She had to be strong.'

'She's the strongest person I know.'

Cally paused for a moment, feeling tears well again. James glanced at her shelf and saw Jack Mahoney's picture standing tall. He hid a smile.

'You're a damn good nurse, Cally. No matter what you say yourself. I'm not known for bullshitting – about serious things, anyway.'

She smiled, as he squeezed his hand.

'James?' she ventured, hesitantly.

'Yes?'

'… you've got nail polish all over your hands.'

She laughed – a true, hearty laugh – as he swore.

* * *

**A/N: I just want to point out that I have done so much pointless research on medical things (being in no way medically affiliated) to write this fanfiction that the suggested ad on the top of my page is now a big banner with saying 'Thinking of becoming a nurse?' with this wonderfully _healthy _picture of an assured, capable young woman in scrubs. Dear God. I study _drama_.**

**Lads. _Lads. _The reviews. Yis are majestic. **

**Thanks a million to the lovely Cuckoo on a String (you darling), Mickey Monroe (the praise. THE PRAISE), and solo13 for your reviews, you are all delightful creatures. **

**Thank you to those who have recently followed and favourited and things, I hope you will continue to do so, and tell me what you think. :) **


	9. Chapter Eight

**The time for proactive choice has arrived, and Cally has made hers.**

* * *

She donned her uniform in front of the mirror, and straightened her collar meticulously. Her hair was pushed back neatly into a bun, pulling angles to her face, drawing her blue eyes out. She tugged her skirt down, picked up her bag and left the house, her mother's keys jangling in her hand.

She pulled up at the branch headquarters well before noon. She tried to straighten her hair once more (obsessive – she knew) and stepped smartly into the building. The receptionist directed her to the appropriate office, and checking her watch (the one Jim had sent her for that 21st – the one with a very traditional white leather strap, and seed pearls dotted around the face), she waited until she was _just_ on time for her meeting before showing her pass and letting the door slide open to admit her.

'Good morning, Nurse DeChangy. I'm Commander Mardson.'

'Good afternoon, sir,' she replied, shaking the man's hand behind the desk. He was white haired and in a senior uniform. He gestured firmly at the chair opposite his.

'Please, please, take a seat.'

She did so, pulling it snugly to her, feeling all out of place and clumsily dressed. This uniform was unfamiliar, now. The band in her hair was pulled so tight it was making her head hurt. He flipped through the sheets on the table before her.

'I read through your resume, nurse. It interested me, I must say.'

She resisted shifting about. She had known this would be the way it would go.

'… flying colours. The remarks from all of your tutors are something to truly be proud of. Your aptitude tests were exceptional; and your finishing results ensured a promising job. But you took a leave of absence – for two years. And you worked –'

He looked puzzled.

'You work in a _diner_?'

She kept her chin high.

'Yes, sir, I do.'

He laid the papers aside, and was about to open his mouth when the door burst open, and a harried man all but fell into the room, his dark hair hanging over his face. He pushed it to the side and beamed a gaze over the occupants of the room.

'Sorry, sir, I had a bit of engine trouble.'

'Didn't you get the shuttle with Mr. Yardsley, Dr. McCoy?'

The white haired man looked bemused, and pushed a few more papers tightly together. Cally didn't attempt to down-cast her eyes; she was far too much of a slave to her own curiosity for that kind of professional consideration. The dark haired doctor pushed his hair back again, in a rueful gesture.

'Uh, no sir, I drove here – I'm not staying far off –'

'Very well, Doctor. Please, take a seat.'

'Yes, sir,' the doctor agreed, focussing at last on Callista.

He was a tall, well-made man, broad in the shoulders, with a fraught expression on his face, smoothing into one of quieter puzzlement, never fully leaving behind that look which suggested that he had been up all night in a fever of work. He had sharp hazel eyes, and strong features, dressed in a suit which had been neat before it got rumpled in his dash to the room. His hair was still falling into his eyes from his neat side parting, and his skin was tanned as her own.

'Oh, I'm sorry, please excuse me, Ms …?' he began, and she scrambled to place his accent as he reached for her hand and she automatically grasped it with her own. His hands were warm; not your stereotypical doctor's hands. He paused, waiting for her to fill the blanks. She had barely got her smile in place and opened her mouth before the interviewer cut her off.

'Dr. McCoy, this is the applicant for the Enterprise medical position – Nurse DeChangy.'

His gaze snapped back to her with renewed interest.

'Hello!' he tried again, sounding surprised. His eyebrows had risen exponentially. She mustn't look an awful lot like a nurse, she thought wryly. She kept the smile in place, her teeth bared.

'I'm Dr. McCoy; Leonard McCoy.'

She looked right through his mottled eyes, dazzling with a smile. She had made her money in tips as a waitress.

'Callista,' she amended. His eyebrows rose further, if that was possible. He remembered to release her hand and loped around to sit opposite her with Commander. Mardson, who glanced at the doctor with just a hint of disapproval.

'Now, Nurse DeTreday –'

'DeChangy,' she automatically corrected, cursing herself as he looked up, dislike easily readable in his face; frustration mounted from McCoy's entrance.

'Sir,' she added weakly. He huffed. Dr. McCoy glanced between the two of them, amused, reaching for her resume herself.

'You work in a diner. Instead of maintaining your enviable position aboard the Farragut.'

She cocked her head, trying not to let her scepticism show. It wasn't so enviable now, she thought, dryly, considering that it was now just a few fragments floating around in deep space. Kaput. And apart from that, why, for the sake of all things, was he not noticing the memorandum that must surely explain her sorry case with a big N.B. beside it? Did no such note exist on her files?

It might be better for her sake if it didn't …

'Yes, sir,' she allowed, at last, reluctant to say more, but carefully keeping her tone blank. The interviewer laid his papers down and interlaced his fingers.

'Why?' he barked.

She only realised at that point that she was staring at the table. She inwardly moaned at her honesty. She complained about James, but with her stupid long hair and freckles and easy blushes and inability to lie convincingly, she was –

'Nurse, I've asked you a question.'

She jumped and hastily refocussed.

'Sorry. Well – I – With all due respect, sir, but I left Starfleet for personal reasons.'

She summoned her courage and stared into the white haired mans eyes, knowing at once that she could elaborate, or be forced to relate the entire and uncensored truth.

'I left for a period of mourning.'

Yeah, that'd do.

'I see …' the white haired man mumbled, shuffling her resume further, clearly feeling awkward. Suddenly, she was beyond uncomfortable. She glanced surreptitiously at the door and genuinely considered making a run for it when the doctor's words across the table brought her back to herself with a jolt.

'Have I seen you somewhere before?' he asked, and she looked up to find him staring at her intently, a frown creasing his brow.

'… n-not that I know of,' she answered, and it was truthful. She didn't remember this man. She had a feeling she would, if she had met him before. His stare was one with the kind of intensity which would sear itself in your memory.

'Are you sure? You worked on the …. Farragut, right? What's your surname again?'

'DeChangy.'

'That's funny, I'm sure I remember you from somewhere. You look - so familiar.'

'One of those faces?' she suggested, her smile a good deal shyer, but real, this time. He flipped through the pages, making soft noises of consideration all the while.

'You've got some recommendations here to be proud of, nurse. You really do. Great grades, great work ethic, great bedside manner …'

She felt a small glow of pride. She hadn't taken any pride in her work in a long time. What was the point in taking pride in something you had failed at?

She banished the thought, feeling sick.

'So what I want to know is this - your record is flawless; you're clearly the kind of employee we'd be nuts not to take, but I've gotta ask you a question first : why do you want _this_ job, _now_?'

His gaze was piercing. He had been trying to disarm her, and, to a certain extent it had worked. He must make a good doctor, she thought.

_Well, what answer could she give?_

What _was_ the answer?

'Well, you see, my brother came home last week. He's the captain of your Enterprise. Anyway, I've been picking up after him since I could walk; patching him up and looking after him. He's been my lifelong project. I lost the only other person I could take care of, and it struck me all of a sudden recently – Jim _needs_ looking after. And I'm a nurse. I can't explain it in a way that won't make me sound crazy, but I _need _to look after him. I need to be the one standing in that Sick Bay when he runs in. I saw him sitting at my kitchen table, covered in blood and it was awful. My mother lost her husband, and although she got a new one and a new life, he has her heart still. Him and her own son. She's my role-model, and Jim is her pet. It by any means I can keep him safe, then I _need _to. Look, I know this all sounds insane, but I've dealt with a lot of people in mourning, and although I'm trying not to think of it like that because I know straight out that'll declare me still unfit for service, I'm sure without a shadow of doubt that this is all very necessary on my journey towards becoming a real human being again, as opposed to one incapable of bandaging fingers without feeling weak.'

But no one really wanted true answers, did they? And that was why she answered differently.

'I've taken time to rethink my stance, and tried life as a civilian. It didn't do it for me. A friend of mine is on leave, and in one conversation, he reminded me of everything that I'm missing. He told me I was born to this life, and he was right. So I've come back.'

Short, sweet, to the point, and without any overt lies. It was too bad that the words were blank in her ears, her eyes without light she suddenly just _knew_ that she wouldn't get the job. Skin grafts over gaping wounds. She wasn't ready after all. She wanted to stand, to run away. That's all she wanted; more than anything. Sweat formed in the folds of her hands, the crook of her elbow, her temples. She inhaled, and it was like inhaling cotton wool.

She vaguely heard the interviewer consulting the doctor, and then the doctor's voice cutting through her foggy mind.

'Thank you, Nurse DeChangy. We'll be in touch.'

She yanked her head up, forcing her teeth to part slickly over her teeth and jerkily shook both hands.

'Thank you, sir, doctor,' she nodded to both, and left smoothly, her back straight, her head erect.

She marched through the building proudly, got all the way across the car park and sat into her car before yanking her hair tie out, and reconciling herself to a life as the hick, home-bound spinster sister with a bunch of Alsatians and a life filled with nothing, nothing, nothing – the best she could hope for.

* * *

**A/N: Look! Look who it is! It's Dr. McCoy! It's _finally _Dr. McCoy again. HOW EXCITING.  
**

**I've been longing to get this one up for chapters at this stage, glad to have it here now. Longest one so far. D:  
**

**REVIEWS as ever do my heart good and fill me with cheer and rip-roaring goodwill. Thank you RolodexThoughts, Cuckoo on a String (ya beaut), and Rynne Harrison, I have found a contingent of Brother Kirk fangirls, clearly, and I'm lovin' it. :) Thank you Lil, too, for your review! I take on board what you're saying, and I've been a bit nervy about that EXACT THING for the past few chapters but just kind of decided to go for it - I hope this will fulfil your desire for something new! As for who will end up with who, I think that bit kind of writes itself and you can just watch it unfold and enjoy the ride. Or something. And THANKS to MickeyMonroe for your lovely, lovely message! Let's be chums.**

**Thanks again for follows and favourites and things! Let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter Nine

**He has the most lovelorn eyes the receptionist thinks she has ever seen, but in truth, Leonard is just _exhausted_.**

* * *

When Dr. McCoy made it back to his hotel that night, his first port of call was the mini-bar in the room. He shuffled the contents around aimlessly until his hand closed over a beer. He yanked the bottle out, frowning as he read the generic name disapprovingly, before kicking the door shut with his foot and bringing his prize to the sofa. The TV was on and the bottle opener on his keys was being deftly manoeuvred before he was fully aware of it. He propped his feet up, pulling the already-loose tie off with one hand. He had downed half before he noticed how scorchingly thirsty he was. He hastily laid the bottle aside, and focussed on the news report. It was nothing interesting; he had missed the headlines and they were running a story about a shelter for homeless animals in South Carolina, run by an ex-movie star. He gazed at it blindly, not taking in a single God-damned word.

She was swimming in front of him, and not for any reason. The commander had already decided not to hire her, before she had even left the room.

'She's got an attitude,' he had nodded, wisely, as if this was something that McCoy never would have deduced himself. And eventually he had given in, and left the building feeling distinctly dissatisfied.

The feeling had stayed with him, resting on his shoulders, hovering in front of his eyes, breathing down his neck all the long way back to the hotel where he was staying for the night. It would be a shuttle trip back to California tomorrow, but for tonight at least he would luxuriate in the crappiest hotel Nebraska had to offer.

There was nothing wrong with an attitude, he had argued, if it didn't compromise her ability to work.

'Yes, but it _does_, McCoy. Look, I have nothing against the girl, she has a great record, but she's not for the Enterprise. It's our flagship; we can only have the best of the best. Maybe a commission on different ship would be best.'

And he had clasped Leonard's shoulder and left.

And really, he could see just where the man had been coming from. The Enterprise was a big deal. But – it wasn't attitude. It was a spark. It was a sign of something more.

Her resume lay in his bag. It was crumpled when he pulled it out, but smoothed nicely. There was something homely about it all. These days you viewed prospective employee's stats on a chip. The solid paper under his hands made him want to question her. Why so old-fashioned? Why did she have to be different?

_Callista Winona DeChangy._

He reread her qualifications, still impressed. There was no question; of all the applicants, she still stood out. So why wasn't he hiring her?

Why was he allowing the say of a bureaucrat sway him?

Why was replacing two members of his team so _damn difficult_?

He shoved her paperwork back into his bag and sprawled over the sofa, staring at the ceiling. She was a pretty girl, he thought, absently. He had noticed that from the very start – you didn't need to look hard to see it. A pretty, All-American girl; a little countrified, but with every whiff of glamour in that simplicity. All corn-coloured hair and balanced features, with big, blue eyes brimming with honestly, a little painful to look at. There was something very touching about her, with her bright hair pulled tightly back – but gentle wisps had escaped, making her look less like a nurse and more like one of the cheerleaders he would have lusted after in high school, everyone's sweetheart. Even if her grades suggested she had been more like him; stuck in the library.

Was _that_ why he wasn't hiring her? He pounded his fist weakly against the upholstery and grabbed a phone.

'Bones.' Kirk answered on the first ring. He must've been expecting the call. ESP.

'I need your help, Jim.'

'Shoot.'

'I got an applicant for the position today.'

'Okay …'

'I can't figure out whether I should hire her or not.'

'Why?'

Bones let out a frustrated noise, pulling himself up to hold his head in his hands.

'I don't know.'

'Bones, you're not making any sense,' Kirk said, sounding amused.

'I know! Damn it, I know! Look, she's great, perfect record, phenomenal grades, the whole package. But she's kind of weird. I mean, she's just getting back on board after an absence, okay? And she tells this bare-faced lie about why she chose to come back, and I just _know _that if I hire her, something will happen that I'm not expecting.'

'So on a scale of 1 to 10 … your urge to bang her is like, an eight.'

'Jim. Please. Are you even listening?'

The captain, on the other end, laughed.

'Look, Bones, you need to relax. If she's a good candidate, - well, whatever, she's still a person. Still entitled to a secret past if she wants one. But it's down to you, either you want to hire her or not. If you think you can work with her, go for it. You're about the pickiest bastard I've ever met.'

'Yeah, I want her,' Bones sighed, rubbing his eyes, and cursing himself as Jim began to chuckle.

'As an employee, I want her as an employee!' he amended hastily. 'You son of a bitch, Jim, you always twist my words!'

'Whatever, Bones. Whatever. Four days 'til lift off! You jazzed?'

'As usual,' McCoy sighed. It was a sad state when getting back to work was the most a man could look forward to. 'Alright, Jim, I'll let you go. Get myself back to the business of getting drunk.'

'You're getting drunk?' James' tone changed at once to one of intense interest.

'Seriously? Well, damn. Where're you at? Can I come and help?'

'Don't they have alcohol in Iowa? I though prohibition was over in that corner of the world,' Bones pointed out wryly, taking a slug of beer. 'I'm actually staying just about over your hill-billy border, and the living is easy.'

'Sure, sure, we have some of the sickest corn-whiskey ever to blind a human being … but my family isn't so keen on that kind of fun,' Jim replied, sourly.

'I'm also towing Spock, so he'd have to come along …'

'Oh, wow, Spock, my favourite. He's not a kill-joy or anything,' Bones said drolly. Jim sighed down the phone.

'True. True. Fine, enjoy your drinking, Bones. I expect you bright eyed and bushy tailed come Monday!' he crowed, and the line went dead. Bones smiled, as he ended the call and dialled another.

'Starfleet Division E. A. I. 221. How may I help you?'

'This is Dr. McCoy,' he pronounced clearly, reeling off a stream of numbers and identification. He could never tell if the person talking to him was real, or automated. Oh, he was getting old. No way around it.

'Thank you doctor, how may I help you?'

'Place a call to Nurse Callista DeChangy. She's just been accepted for the position of Nurse Attendant aboard the Enterprise. We leave on Monday, oh-eight-hundred hours sharp.'

'Thank you, Dr. McCoy, the call will be placed. As you were.'

He hung up, rubbing his temples momentarily. This trip was going to be interesting, and _maybe_ for a pleasant reason.

For once.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is long enough as is, but look out - the next chapter is going to include the account of that other Star Trek themed dream I had, Cuckoo on a String. Soon you shall hear all. ;)**

Thanks for all the reviews and the sneaky follows and favs (OOH, CHEEKY) because I loved them all. Every time I got an email I was like, 'POW! Validation!' Thanks to my homeslice Cuckoo on a String, and fellow travellers RolodexThoughts and Mickey Monroe! :) Thanks also to Lil! Glad you're liking it! To clarify, McCoy says hello to her, and then doesn't say anything else until he says 'Have I seen you somewhere before?' Then the other guy tells her she can leave and TADAH! Chapter over.

Also, Anon22, where is your face so I can speak lovingly to it? D: You little gem, thanks for all of your reviews! That's so sweet of you! I can't even reply to everything here, but seriously, thanks for all the cheer and goodwill! As for the confusing chapter, it takes place in the branch headquarters, so it starts when Spock and Jim are talking to an engineer but neither are really listening, and he leaves as soon as McCoy appears - I may take a look at it and fix it up. Thank you so much for the reviews.

Enough jibber-jabber, you are beautiful creatures, and please continue to let me know what you think! :)


	11. Chapter Ten

**She breathes deep, through the panic, and finds only elation.**

* * *

The phone hung limply in her hands when the receptionist hung up. She was numb. An acceptance. Acceptance. Acceptance!

She placed the receiver on the wooden floor beside her, staring about in abject wonder. In matter of days, she'd be boarding the Enterprise bound for galaxies unknown.

The enormity suddenly occurred to her. Mechanically she made it to her feet, and padded down the dark corridor.

'Mom,' she said, pushing her parent's door open. Her mother looked up, alarmed, from the clothes she was folding.

'You alright, Cal?'

'Mom, they accepted me. Starfleet accepted me. For the Enterprise. I'm a nurse aboard the Enterprise.'

She was so giddy she barely felt her mothers arms enclose around her. She giggled aloud, and didn't even consider how strange the sound was … coming from her of all people.

She merely closed her arms around her mother too and hugged her with every shred of thanks alive in the nerves of her fingers. Winona, the only person in the wake of that tragedy who had stood a little ways off and said 'I know you don't believe me now, but one day you'll go back and it will be everything you dreamed of.'

After all, Winona knew something about tragedy. She held her daughter tight, so tight that the golden curls tickled her face and for just a moment before delight and pride could crow, her stomach dropped as separation loomed. But her little girl laughed, and Winona was vindicated.

Was it terrible that Jim didn't even realise it?

It was, he realised, months later, in the comfort of his own quarters, with more than a trace of ruefulness. Actually, it was really, _really_ terrible. If it had been any other kind of situation (tactical, military) he would have made the connection at once. Connections, after all, were his thing. But then again, this wasn't any kind of military affair. This was a family affair, and that alone was the cause of his confusion. It was really appalling, actually – the blinkers he had when it came to Cally. If any of his crew had been like, 'Yo, captain, I want to have a rave on the bridge, maybe invade a few peaceful pre-warp nations, maybe experiment with a cocktail of recreational drugs and made a good old fashioned Satanic sacrifice,' they'd be in the brig in instants.

But if _Cally _had said it, he would have been like, 'Sure thing, you want the chair? You can have the chair. Do you have enough money, or livestock to sacrifice to Satan? _Do you have some LSD?' _

Because in a way, he'd sell his soul to make her happy again, and he didn't give any kind of _shit_ what price he'd have to pay for it.

McCoy's phone call didn't connect in his mind in any way with the new smile on Cally's face, this new placement, this new pride. He just glowed right alongside her, feeling the same satisfaction she had when he received his captaincy. How she had come to be employed on the Enterprise didn't even enter into his thought process. _Who_ had hired her – it didn't even register.

And it wouldn't, for months and months and months, until he'd made all kind of regrettable comments to Bones, but then again, hindsight was a wonderful thing.

So Jim didn't realise that his kid sister had been hired by his grim-faced, hard drinking best friend. Didn't realise she was _that _nurse. Didn't think twice about the _vile _remarks he made to Bones. Was that _really _so bad?

Oh, it was terrible; he knew that, now. An image of her smiling in her uniform sprang to mind, though. Hard at work alongside the man himself. Content.

Yes, it was awful …

But Goddamn it, if her smile wasn't worth it.

* * *

**A/N: This is just a bit of a shlyyyy short chapter before Part 1 comes to a close in a chapter or two ...**

**Thanks to my lovely crew of luvvies, Cuckoo on a String, Rolodex Thoughts, and Mickey Monroe for the reviews and encouragement, 'tis only lovely! Thanks also to Anon22, just look at you, being all complimentary and lovely! Guh! I'm so overcome. Happy to clarify for you, and glad you like the switching POVs! :D HURRAY! Thanks also to Happy Reader (isn't that the cutest little name ever? Come on. It is) for your review! I'm like, delirious with joy that you like Cally, and find yourself 'hooked'! :D Thank you so very much!**

**Okay, okay, so Cuckoo - get this. Here is a dream that I had about two months ago, after seeing an episode of the original Star Trek series on tv.**

**So I had a dream where I was on the Enterprise and Kirk had fucked up and we were all gonna die and I was like, 'Oh, hell, no,' so I grabbed Spock (Leonard Nimoy in his youth Spock) and I was like, 'We're going to the spa, bitch' and when we got to the spa it was all weird and bright, and then this family came along and we ended up awkwardly talking to them trying to pretend that we weren't in any way involved with running the ship or doing important Starfleet things - and then it turns out we had made it back to earth but only Spock and I had managed it, and the whole population of the Earth had turned really stupid and everything was kind of run down 70's style, and slightly Russian Communist - and there were bonfires on the streets, and I made a friend who we had to follow around because Spock sucked at pretending to fit in, and my friend was kind of like a junkie but very helpful ... so I offered to buy her this brown taffeta dress but she didn't want it, so we went shoe-shopping instead, (still trailing Spock behind us) and I marvelled at the expense of second hand shoes. And that was my dream.**

**HONEST TO GOD.**

**Anyway, thank you for all the new follows and reviews and interest, keep up the excellent work of telling me what you think, you gems. :)**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Spock will be sorry to leave - this place is what a home should be.**

* * *

The news spread that Riverside was soon to be once again bereft of Callista DeChangy and her brother James, the famous captain, and the goodwill was practically pandemic.

The farewell dinner was small by most standards, Spock supposed. He had been invited, clearly, along with a woman called Krista Mahoney who, it was explained, had been a family friend and a neighbour for a long time, Winona's brother and his wife, and their daughter.

He had made himself as useful as possible, directed heavily by Winona and Warren. Warren, Spock had discovered, was a good man who revolved around his wife and daughter as if he lived for little else. He shook Spock's hand firmly upon finally meeting him. He had been detained on business for a few days at the beginning of their visit but had swiftly made up for lost time, and was ardently supportive of Cally's return, risking life and limb by climbing into their attic ('A deathtrap. A _true _death-trap,' Winona had commented doubtfully as Warren wrestled his way through the trapdoor) to fetch the antique valise Cally had always fancied owning. He talked long and avidly with James in the evenings, who, it appeared, had softened in attitude towards him as the years went on.

'We didn't get along very much when we were both younger,' Warren admitted, honestly, but still rueful. 'I'm sorry to say that I didn't keep my temper better – but let bygones be bygones – I have to say, Jim, it's great to see you back home again.'

'Awh, don't be such an old man, Warren,' Jim teased him, punching him playfully in the arm. When Warren smiled in reply, Spock could see interestingly that it was just as wide a smile as Cally's.

The airy kitchen was full of movement and chatter as the family and Spock tried to arrange dinner in a confusion of shouts and Warren's supreme orders – he was a restaurateur after all. Guests were due to arrive at eight. At half seven Winona ushered her daughter from the room to get ready, following her a few moments later.

James was pulling a chicken from the oven and turning his face aside from the heat when Spock ran out of things to do. The kitchen was clean and neat; plates and dishes and cutlery neatly placed alongside place-mats; champagne chilled. Simple fare, but real. Spock was feeling absurdly proud of himself when Callista ran into the room.

She was dressed in a white sun dress, with simple embroidery anglais; a simple comparison against her golden skin. Her sunset hair was wavy and loose around her shoulders, her eyes never bluer.

'Jim, fix my necklace, will you?'

She turned around, pulling a sheet of hair over her shoulder. James neatly fastened the small, gold clasp. She turned to grace him with a smile.

'Thanks,' she grinned, racing away again. Spock looked after her - something very transient about her. Here today, gone tomorrow. That was the truth of it, though, he supposed.

'I'm telling you, Spock, I'm starting to change my mind. I think you could be in with a chance, you know.'

His attention snapped back at once.

'For the last time, I'm not –'

He lowered his voice, hissing the words.

'I'm not infatuated by your sister. She is a very accomplished woman, and I wish her every respect.'

'Sure, sure,' James brushed the comment away, back to the counter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. A type of youth not present in the eyes of his sister.

Spock shook his head in annoyance as he stalked from the room, Kirk's laugh ringing in the air behind him. Tonight, there would be chatter and celebration and every kind of toast and cheer imaginable. And then tomorrow -

Spock let the thought hang in the air of the silent kitchen; content, for the moment, to merely wait and see.

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUUNNNN. Almost finished part one. Almost. Ohmigod.  
**

**Yeah, so we're two bits away from part 2. Imagine that. D: In the meantime I'm all sniffy and blargh so be nice and tell me joyful things. I'm stuck in a loop of looking up Snorg t-shirts online and also 1940's style dresses. Stop meeeh. I'm also considering making a brownie in a mug, but, like, stress of that.  
**

**Big thanks to my supermegafoxyawesomehot friends and Romans, Cuckoo on a String, RolodexThoughts and also Anon22, look at you all. #fond Shoutout to my homegirl MickeyMonroe too, you alright, kid. ;)**

**I'm trying to learn how to do the Tumblr at the moment, as well. Difficult times. **

**Please review, and tell me things, and other such tasks which will fill me with joy. I have a runny nose, like. Pity me. : Thank you lovelies!  
**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**It's midnight – James makes his way to the bedroom of his youth, past the guest room where Spock meditates, his mother's room, and Cally's. Unoccupied.**

* * *

Eight hours before take-off, she was sitting on his bed.

'Hi,' she looked up, as he closed the door behind himself.

'You should go to bed,' is what he wanted to say, but he knew she must have something to declare. Her face was full of questions.

'What's the matter, Cally?'

He perched on the bed too, his weight throwing the balance off slightly. He was all sinew and muscle; she was all bone and breeze. She twisted her hands in a desperate gesture which was blatantly their mother's. That paternal feeling stole over him again, and he knew whatever it was that worried her he would fix without a thought. He loved his crew, his ship – he'd do anything to protect them. But his sister was a moth; easily crushed. He'd stand over her just as vehemently as his whole ship.

'Look, Jim, I've got to do this myself. I can't – I don't want … Hmm.'

She scrunched her mouth sideways, and he couldn't help cocking his head in return.

'I don't want to be your little sister from the very outset. I've got to go it alone, for a while, anyway,' she shrugged. James took an inventory of her; sandy gold hair, deeper blue eyes than his and freckled skin and wished her happiness with everything in him.

'No problem,' he said, kissing her on the cheek.

'I look forward to seeing you on-board tomorrow,' he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. She returned it shakily, and made for the door.

'Jim?' she asked, turning in the doorway.

'Yes?'

She hesitated. She didn't know what to say. Questions rose like bubbles to her lips. _Did you ever fall in love only to lose them? Have you ever felt like a failure at your job? Will I ever love anyone else? Can anyone help me feel less like a waste? Is there a chance I can stay here? Will this ship feel like a home? How will I be able to survive without the Iowa sun beating down my back?_

Questions he couldn't answer. Instead, she smiled.

'Nothing,' she said, slipping away, leaving the captain of the Enterprise to nervous dreams, of fires and flowers and girls in white dresses, the sadness of worlds evident in their eyes.

* * *

Winona stood in the doorway of her home, her husbands plaid-clad arm brushing her shoulder, and waved her children away. This was the curse of motherhood. This was the sting that she had always known would come again, and here it was. The sun beamed in her eyes and she squinted.

James called something to them, a hand on the chrome handle of the car he'd be driving to the first shuttle. She couldn't hear him; the wind seemed to whip his words away from her. He smiled; her handsome son of a dead man in his official capacity, capable, worthwhile. He was tall and broad, strong and sharp. He was everything she could have wished for him, everything that George would have admired. Her James. He disappeared into the car, with his friend - the Vulcan - in the passenger seat, looking respectfully at her and her home through the tinted window.

And there was Cally, coming round to her door, having stowed her case in the trunk. Her daughter: a beautiful woman with sad eyes and an ocean of loss in her heart. Brave, making another foray into the world which had been cruel to her. Maybe she would find someone else who had burned like her on her travels to the other end of the galaxy – that was Winona's dream. She had lost her George; Cally had lost her Jack. Both had been heart-mates – but there was still love. True love, absolute love. She prayed her daughter would find it - that it would find her. She deserved it, deserved everything and all that this land couldn't give to her anymore. Thank God she was leaving. Maybe Winona would follow. Someday.

Cally climbed into the back, the door slammed with finality. She could make out both of their faces through the open windows, both looking to her, both waving, as the car turned and began to move away down the drive.

She looked after her cubs, and, taking a raspy breath, raised her arms in a smooth arc to wave them away to worlds unknown, too far from her maternal arms, and sending the two halves of heart with them.

* * *

**END OF PART 1.**

* * *

**A/N: Whoaaaggh. Look. End of Part 1. Whoooooaaaaaghhhh.  
**

**Part 2 is going to be focussed on Cally's experiences aboard the Enterprise, running into familiar faces, and doing her best not to disappoint ol' McCoy, under the watchful eye of Jim Kirk. Part 3 will segway into Star Trek into Darkness ... it's all very exciting. D:  
**

**Okay. _I'm _excited anyway. ;)**

**Much obliged to my team of cheerful wellwishers Cuckoo on a String, RolodexThoughts and MickeyMonroe - you indefatigable bastions of society. *salutes***

**Thanks also to Anon22 (hallo again! And thank you for your well-wishes, feeling better now, thanks! You sweet thing.) and also 'Guest'. HI GUEST. XD I am excited at the presence of a newbie, because we all know I just love newbies, so thank you! Dun worry, Bones will be back before you know it, grouching sexily around as he tends to. ;) Thanks for the review.**

**SO. I am now going on holiday for three weeks and leaving you all to wonder. ;) Don't worry, updates will return in three weeks and until then I hope you all miss me terribly and make up excellent flights of fantasy as to what will happen next. XD Thank you for the continued support, I am very grateful for the good response so far, thank you for sticking with it!**

**For any newbies reading, please feel free to add your own two cents, because you are a majestic beast to have read this far. ;)**

**See you back here soon for Part 2 - you jazzed? ;)  
**


	14. Part 2 : Chapter One

**Part 2 : The Empty Skies**

* * *

**2259.** **Huge. Metallic. Full of people she didn't know going places she'd never see. A sea of uniforms in scarlet and black. A hum of conversation she wasn't part of. Cally feared this Star Fleet.**

* * *

There were a slew of people in the bay with her, waiting to board, of course, and she knew she looked just like everyone else. Maybe a younger ensign. Someone scared and confused and already a little homesick. Someone who didn't know what they wanted. She looked around the huge hanger and marvelled. She'd better commit it to memory; she'd be boarding the shuttle in a moment and this would all be gone.

Most of her stuff was onboard already. Time to get going. Grasping the bone handle of the antique valise, she ducked her head and trotted up the metal steps to the shuttle, trying to convince herself that yes, she deserved to be here, and yes, she could do this.

She tripped.

An arm caught her before she plunged headlong. She looked up into the face of a curly haired young student who was gazing worriedly down at her. He held no cases.

'May I healp you?' he queried politely in a thick Russian accent. An ugly blush was flushing her cheeks – she could feel it and resented it immensely. She tried to arrange her features attractively.

'Oh, thank you … But I think I should be – fine … If I can make it to the Enterprise,' she managed at last, yanking her case into her hand. She flashed him another brief smile, melting momentarily at how inappropriately adorable he was, before the technician manning the door of the shuttle glanced up.

'Your name, ensign?' he barked. She dropped her eyes automatically as she answered.

'Calista DeChangy; nurse.'

The attendant poked a few buttons and nodded.

'Please step aboard, nurse. Your name, ensign?' he went on, addressing the Russian boy behind her.

'Pavel Chekov; engineer,' she heard him reply, as she lugged her suitcase up through the rust-coloured doors and stowed it with difficulty in a handy case cage above their heads. She threw herself into a seat at a window, and buckled up, staring out into the hanger, feeling a lump of homesickness rising in her throat already. She could still smell prairie dust through the petrol. Looking out of the window, the thought crossed her mind – would she see this place again? Would she run through fields laced in memories; see her old high school, the thousand haunts stamped into her memory? Smell her mother's perfume, her dad's cooking? Sleep in her own bed? She was leaving her home, once and for all. She could only kiss it goodbye as she stared out of the window as the shuttled shook itself to life and rose, leaving home further behind with every breath.

* * *

Bones was sitting white knuckled when their shuttle finally took off – after a delay due to engine trouble, no less. James tried to ignore his gritted teeth and looked out of the window. It was always worth the look; the flight was so short and their returns to Earth were infrequent. He'd be crying for some greenery soon, and he knew it. Not as badly as Cally probably would be, but even so …

'It's almost over, Bones,' James sighed, turning to his friend.

'Don't you have some bourbon, to take the edge off?' he suggested, amused. Bones glanced out of the window, less than comfortable.

'I'm fine. Besides, gotta get used to it, I suppose,' he answered, unusually mildly, meeting Jim's look of abject surprise evenly. 'I hear they're gonna be booking us with a five year mission one of these days.'

Jim didn't miss the tenseness of his jaw, and didn't pursue the subject.

'You might be right there, Bones,' he agreed, and his eyes brightened at the thought.

'God help me,' McCoy said, faintly, and James shot him an amused glance. They chatted about their time off until the shuttle connected and they stepped back onto familiar Enterprise ground.

* * *

A few meetings, a few points he had to remember, a couple of speeches from Starfleet officers of rank – the whole rigmarole were just minor setbacks. As James eased himself into the captain's chair, he felt a weight rise off his shoulders, and a different culpability take its place. At his fingertips a legion of controls waited for his command, in a room full of people directed by him. The responsibilities of thousands of lives on a pair of shoulders which had barely seen twenty-six years. He was the Enterprise; he could feel the joys and sorrows of those aboard, the pain of separation, the excitement for a new quest – he was the vessel those feelings flowed through. The young, cock-sure captain of the Starship Enterprise, Captain James Tiberius Kirk. He took a deep breath, smiled, and turned to Sulu.

'Mr. Sulu!' he cried. The Japanese man turned respectfully.

'Yes, sir?'

'Engines on full. Let's blow this galaxy.'

Sulu hid a smile.

'Uh, yes sir,' he agreed, flicking a few switches and suddenly the metallic miracle ensconcing a team of talented, educated people lurched forward and began drifting through space taking Kirk's family with it.

* * *

**A/N: Part 2, friendships. It all starts here.**

**Sorry here and now for any delays which will occur, college has started up again so the typical delays will ensue but I shouldn't be leaving you out in the cold for TOO long. I am back from the old holliers now and a good time was had by all! I was in a lecture yesterday and suddenly they projected a big-ass picture of Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock onto the screen to illustrate how Holmes even in modern adaptations has all of the alien tendencies of the Victorian age and how he, as a character, is 'stranded'. Interesting times.  
**

**Thank you to all of my lovelies for reviewing that last chapter - my goodly sirs in the form of Rolodex Thoughts, Cuckoo on A String, Mickey Monroe, Anon22 and keptinjamestiberiusperfecthair ... you are all delightful and I hope you're looking forward to the sexual tension medicine fest that you will be subjected to for the next while. ;)**


	15. Part 2 : Chapter Two

**She couldn't feel choked there - too bright, too airy, too clean. But when she leaned against the wall, her hand left a moist print on the panel.**

* * *

Cally hadn't lived on her own before she joined Starfleet years ago, and so sharing a room with a total stranger and sometimes having to organise your own mealtimes, cleaning your clothes, getting to class and doing all of the work you needed to had been daunting. But she had been young, and bouncy, and full of life. She had managed it well. There hadn't been a care in her as to what would happen if she forgot anything or a repercussion if she slipped up. She had been a little shy and reserved before her roommate had forced an actual laugh out of her, beyond the faint smile she gave every time she had met her eye. By her final year, they had been dressing in lampshades and jumping on their beds, screaming out the lyrics to the newest pop songs and making up complicated dance moves to accompany them.

She wasn't sharing with anyone any more, and this room seemed big and empty without her roommate's junk on the floor or her own stuff in lazy piles. This space was all clinical and space age and uncluttered and worryingly, worryingly neat. She wandered into the bathroom she shared with another unknown crew member. There were a few bottles in it – with creamy pink liquids in them and flowery labels, written in French. She glanced them over, before retreating to her own room and trying to steel herself to start unpacking, and to make this regulation, box-standard room her own. When she set the valise on the bed and turned her key, it clicked open with a noise like a gunshot.

* * *

They started her off with a soft job, she thought, wryly.

'Okay, well, you're been on a two year absence, Nurse DeChangy, so we thought we'd post you where you finished your work experience at Starfleet. Now, your resume says your finishing semester was in the maternity ward of the Venture – is that correct?'

'Um, yes,' Cally replied, tucking a hank of hair back firmly; so firmly she misjudged and scored a little pink line down her cheek. She tried not to notice. Nurse Dixon took it as good grace to pretend she hadn't either. She rested her PADD on a side table, and directly a bright smile at Cally.

'Well, then, let's get you settled,' she announced comfortably, leading the girl down the corridors. Ribbed in metal, carpeted in blue, it was a daily routine for the nurse.

'This will be like a refresher course,' she told Cally over her shoulder. 'You'll be on top of your game in no time,' she assured her, tapping a button and opening the next door. A bright, clean maternity ward unfolded before her, with a dozen or so sub wards. Nurse Dixon attracted the attention of the reigning doctor – a human male with the gloriously normal name – Wilson Greene. He smiled moderately at her, his gaze darting quickly to the girl behind her, remaining placid.

'Good to meet you, Nurse DeChangy. Welcome to our Maternity Bay. Now, it may not be the busiest ward on the Enterprise, but we certainly handle some of the most important work onboard.'

She grinned, shakily, and the doctor felt himself softening toward her. Pretty little thing.

Time wound on, and he had to admit, she was an exceptional worker. She had patience about her, a calmness of voice and a capability about that was belied by her youth. He learned early on that despite her doll-like looks, she worked hard – harder than he would have thought, and she was wasted on this kind of pretty work. She was just doing all the nice work they always gave to new recruits – first timers and the like. But she wasn't a first timer, and the absence she was filling wasn't even in this ward. Still, she would have to fill out the necessary month long period of adjustment before moving on. Dr. Greene watched her keenly, without seeming to.

She wasn't a midwife. Maybe it was the prejudice in him, but when he looked at her, that's what he assumed. That, or a paediatrician – a pretty job.

She wiped the brows of the pregnant women, assisted in epidurals, scans, passed instruments in surgery, did everything expected of her. She was a Trauma Nurse, he learned. That was what she had spent the bulk of her last assignment doing, working in Sick Bay Prime on whoever came in and caring for them. Right in the thick of things, up to her elbows in gore and urgency. Didn't appeal to _him. _She must have a quick wit, be ready to plunge in head-long. She must be able to deal with all sorts, Dr. Greene reasoned. Funny. You mightn't think it. But then again, people could surprise you.

* * *

'Whatever happened to that nurse you wanted to bang?' James asked casually, weeks later, playing with the ice in his glass after a long day. McCoy raised his eyebrows irritated, but looked back to his drink.

'I did _not _want to bang her, I wanted to _hire _her … which I did. I don't know; I haven't seen her on board yet. Early days.'

James considered this.

'So, are you going to find her and ask her out?' he suggested breezily. Bones sighed.

'Damn it, Jim, of course not. I don't think I'm the _dating _type. Besides, she's just a kid … and an _employee_.'

'So? Everyone on this ship is _my _employee technically. Never stopped me before.' James downed the rest of his glass and winced at the sting.

'Yeah, well, I don't think anything could stop you,' Bones remarked, disapprovingly. James smirked.

'Nah. Something like – what is it, Promethian Shingles? Is that it? Something like that could stop me.'

'Actually something like that could kill you …'

'Whatever, that's _beside _the point. The point is … um … oh, yeah, the point is that there is a hot nurse onboard just waiting for you to ask her out - and/or bang her … so, you should.' Jim leaned forward, conspiratorially, 'X = Y, doc. You know. QED and all that.'

He settled back as if he had made an excellently rousing and very influential remark. Bones sighed, shaking his head.

'No, I don't think so. I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean – she's got to be at least ten years younger than me. Besides, I've given up on women. They're all catty as hell when you get right down to it.'

'Nah, you'll change your mind, I can tell. I can _always _tell.'

Bones raised his glass to his lips with a shake of his head. That nurse was somewhere on board, doing medical things, same as he was. He didn't have time to go chasing younger women – he left that kind of thing to Jim.

* * *

**A/N: Super short, teaser-esque chapter for the moment. Goodness.**

**So yeah, much obliged to all of you lovely people who have gifted me with your words - Cuckoo and RolodexThoughts, and MariadoaBarrelroll (HALLO NEWBIE) and Anon22 - (you are just too cute, looking out for my education! You sweet thing)! Also thanks to my new followers - *waves gaily at you* It's all very exciting. Mad things are happening at the moment and I'm auditioning for a slew of plays, so everyone wish me luck. ; )**

Thanks for reading, and see you all next chapter! :)


	16. Part 2 : Chapter Three

**She'll wake on that morning with a war-bride yearning, and fear of messing up.**

* * *

She made friends. You always did, especially when years stretched ahead of you – friends were important. Her friends were called Josh and Lydia, and they were nurses too.

Josh was tall, weak of sight, blonde of head. He was Californian, so they understood each other well, even if he teased her about farming and cattle. He had wanted to be a doctor, but somehow found himself unhappily nursing. He was overly honest, good-looking, guileless, big-headed and peppy. He might wear on your nerves, but they had a connection. He reminded her a little of Jim, who, despite being on-board with her, she so rarely saw.

Lydia was like an exotic princess to Cally, with dusky, rose-petal skin, demure smile and liquid brown eyes. She was the owner of the pink bottles in their shared bathroom – the closest thing Cally had to a roommate now. She was from a wealthy French family and this was her dream. She was considering making the jump to midwifery, and Cally wished her luck. It was not for her.

They ate lunch together in one of the quieter bays most days, when their schedules overlapped, and they were joined by others now and then, making friends quietly. Whatever perky girls fell into Josh's welcome lap. A few studious engineers, a couple of scientists, defence forces. Anyone was welcome, really. Sometimes it was just the three of them and they talked like old biddies.

'We're like the Scooby gang,' Josh sometimes commented, with a wolfish smile, and Lydia, who had never, ever watched a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in her life always smiled the same vague, pinched smile, while Cally suppressed a gale of obnoxious laughter.

* * *

Tuesday. A month on board – a three month mission. Josh was pouting. This wasn't unusual – he already had something of a rep from the Academy to live up to, and he was finding this difficult onboard when the number of slutty cadets was drastically lowered.

He toyed with his food moodily, and Lydia sighed, wearily.

'What's wrong now?'

'It's Yaina, from Engineering,' Josh moaned, dramatically, his dishevelled hair falling over his face as he leaned forward in despair. Lydia kept on stoically working at her salad.

'I presume she doesn't – return you _ardour._' Her suggestion was blank. Cally suppressed a smile looking between them. Ten years from now the two would be married with kids, she predicted.

'Nooo …'

'Oh, cheer up, Josh. There's a million girls on board who I'm sure would gladly leave their husbands for the chance of one night with you. Go and harass them.'

'But they're not Yaina … I mean, have you seen there? She had this amazing bob haircut, and her _body, _holy hell …'

He went on in this descriptive vein and Cally smiled as she listened. He had such shallow, unimportant worries – it was a fabulous relief from the darkness of her own mind. That was why it was so important to have friends to gather around. They made you smile.

* * *

McCoy saw her on board by chance, from a goodly ways off. He was discussing supplies with Dr. Greene briefly on his way to the Sick Bay when her golden hair caught his eye. She was leaning over a woman, writhing in discomfort, speaking softly. She straightened up and her image reaffirmed itself in his mind. Her hair was different, this time, sleeker, or something. Her white uniform miles away from the blue of her service uniform of her interview.

He paused for a moment to survey her, curious. She turned smartly towards the supplies and chose something with confidence, prepping the hypospray neatly, her eyes downcast, her mouth moving as she delivered a steady stream of gently conversation to the woman in the bed. The hypospray was delivered with surety, and her smile was comforting as she turned to leave, walking the opposite direction to doctor McCoy. Her hair glinted under the dull onboard lights, and he turned away, trying to remember her name, feeling that maybe it was time to call her in to do the job she'd been hired for – he was a nurse down, and beginning to feel the strain. He just wished Jim would shut up. That was all.

* * *

She opened her eyes as the gently beaming lights in her room awoke her at the prescribed hour and stretched her long arms over her head, grazing her knuckles on the wall and squeaking. Everything was gentle on board, no harsh sunshine or prairie dust or her father singing along to the radio. She shook her head out and swung herself out of bed with a gentle thump onto the carpet. Her tawny hair fell in a confused tangle over her shoulders, and her voice was thick with sleep when she requested any messages from the computer. She was astonished when she was delivered a very official one – a summons to work.

'Nurse DeChangy, your posting has been changed. Your presence will be required in Sick Bay Prime at 0800 hours.'

Cally's eyes widened as she took it in. Sick Bay Prime? Yikes. This was earlier than expected. She quickly downed the black coffee and winced at the jolt, before plucking hopelessly at her hair and heading towards her shower, wondering what the day had in store for her, feeling that long awaited fear finally rise from the stomach to drum in her ears. Nerves. Right on time.

* * *

**A/N: My lovelies. This is it. The next chapter spells the future, so look out for it.  
**  
**Thanks as ever to my truly inspiring reviewers, who not only hearten my with their very kind and continued interest in my story, but also with their genuine kindness towards me! Thanks for your goodwill my dears, Cuckoo, RolodexThoughts, Anon22 (you well-wishing babe) and also MariadoaBarrelroll! **

**You are all such gems.**

**Thanks to all the new followers and lurkers, please do drop me a note to tell me what you think, I do love all of your words ...**

**And also - HURRAY! I got the part! XD Thanks for all the good luck wishes, totally owe the part to you guys. Mwah.**

**Stay tuned and stay warm - it's a jungle out there. ;)**


	17. Part 2 : Chapter Four

**Sick Bay Prime hums with life, and confusion. A young engineer lies in his bed, saved from death.**

* * *

Lieutenant O'Neill was barely awake in his bed, feeling weak and shivery still – he had come so close to losing that arm in an engineering accident. He was lucky to have merely lost a lot of blood and suffered a nice shock. The nurse who walked through the doors speculatively was a new face, no doubt about it. He would have remembered her, all tan and fair haired. He blinked to see her clearer, and she caught his eye as she scanned the rows of beds with an interested eye. She smiled slightly before looking past him and walking on, obviously searching for someone. It was early, but there was a lot of activity in the Sick Bay already. A nurse approached Blondie and began speaking earnestly to her. Lieutenant O'Neill stretched forward to strain his ears and hear what passed between them, but out of nowhere Dr. McCoy barrelled up and began berating him in his stern, doctorly manner.

'… serious this is. You're going to have to take it easy once you get out of here, give it some time to heal up … O'Neill, are you even listening to me?'

'Huh?' The young engineer blinked at the doctor with the steely eyes, who quirked an eyebrow, looking besieged.

'What in the _hell_ has you so preoccupied?' he demanded, casting around for the source of the young engineer's distraction, before quite naturally his eye came to rest on the figures of the two nurses who blinked at him, giving the distinct impression that they had been trying to get his attention before he launched into his diatribe. Embarrassing.

'Oh, hello again, Nurse,' he covered (remarkably well, McCoy thought), moving from O'Neill's bedside towards her. The other nurse took her leave swiftly, and left the new kid looking up at him. Her awkward smile resolved to a more sincere one, and she bobbed her head in greeting. She wavered in the streamlined medical bay, with her shrewd blue eyes, pale hair and solid stance; a clash of confidence and fear married to a sense of determination to complete this task at hand and get on with things. Something he could admire.

'Hi, Dr. McCoy. I received a notice about my changed posting this morning, so … here I am!' she finished, her hands flapping with a little awkward motion of anticipation. Cute, or maybe cringy. Maybe she was both. She recovered her smile with a trace of wryness, and suddenly all the stupid jokes Jim had made about pretty blonde nurses over the last two or three months came flooding back to him, and McCoy felt irrationally edgy.

He glanced back down at the PADD in his hands. And then back up.

'Well, welcome to Sick Bay, Nurse DeChangy. Are you early?'

She nodded. He raised an eyebrow, and settled back into his day-to-day CMO mode, with perhaps just a further peppering of grim panic, because temperatures were rising all over the ship and if there was one thing McCoy hated, it was unnecessary illness. And he could feel it coming.

'Well, _good, _because right now we're down a damn good nurse and a sight too soon. We're heading forwards a 'flu pandemic and God knows how – oh, damn it all, have you had a 'flu jab yet?'

He looked so agonized that she desperately wanted to say yes, but could only shake her head, tongue tied. Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes and tossed his PADD onto the nearest vacant bed.

'Come on,' he gestured, harried, and setting off briskly into an examination room. She did as directed, and perched awkwardly on the table as he prepared an injection for her, grumbling away as he did so.

' – I mean, how'm I supposed to look after the _normal _casualties without this? 'Flu. I mean, come on! It's so curable, so unnecessary! If EVERYONE just got a jab before coming aboard, this would be unnecessary. _Why _is that not procedure anymore? Are you allergic to penicillin?'

Cally shook her head again. McCoy paused, and raised an eyebrow.

'Not much of a talker, are you?'

'I'm kind of overwhelmed,' Cally managed at last. McCoy raised the other eyebrow, and made an expression of consideration.

'Honest, too. Okay. I think we'll get along. Roll up your sleeve.'

She did as directed, as he observed her. She was just looking up to ask if it was far enough when he blurted out, 'Are you _sure_ I don't know you from somewhere?'

She blushed faintly. _Damn. _ Her kinship to Jim wasn't noticeable at first glance, but she knew McCoy to be a good friend of her brother's. Best be honest but not foolish. She didn't really want that baggage … not _yet._

'I really don't think so, Dr. McCoy – first time I met you was at that interview.'

'Oh, I remember _that_,' he nodded, with a hint of displeasure. 'I hate people trying to tell me who _I _should hire to be part of _my _team. Really gets on my nerves.'

'I guess I got lucky.'

She was matter-of-fact about it, he noticed, when he glanced up. Still. She knew that she was lucky to be there.

'What's your name again?'

'DeChangy.'

'First name.'

'Callista.'

_That was it, finally._ He'd been wracking his brains – Casey? Molly? Christy? Eventually he'd just programmed the computer to call the nurse employed on the appropriate date, and her picture had flared up. He'd stabbed at it eagerly, sending the alert, forgetting to check her name in the process. _Callista._

'Do people call you Callista?'

'Do people call you Leonard?'

He rocked back on his heels, stunned. Not displeased.

'No. Folks call me McCoy. Some of them call me Bones,' he said, widening his eyes and grasping her forearm, freckled and tanned, and administering the preventative vaccine. She held back a squeak as it stung.

'They call me Cally at home,' she said, at last.

He stepped back to let her off the table.

'Nice to meet you again, Cally DeChangy,' he said, glancing up between throwing the dispenser away and pressing the button to spray the chair with alcohol.

He said her name with the soft, French 'g' which made it beautiful in the mouth of someone who understood it.

'You too, Dr. McCoy.'

He smiled when he straightened up at last.

'Hmm. Got a good sense of when not to screw around with over familiarity with your senior officer, too. I think we'll get along, Nurse DeChangy.'

_I hope so, _she thought, seeing to the first patient on the ward he assigned her. _Because you seen a ferocious man when riled._

The patient was a slender young woman who had been complaining of chest pains. She smiled at Cally, who smiled back, as she took her temperature.

'Where's Nurse Gupta?' the patient queried. Cally checked the stats on her tricorder and glanced back to the patient.

'I'm not sure. But I'm Nurse DeChangy, her relief.'

'Good news, that,' said the patient in the next bed; another woman, 'I was sure that Dr. McCoy might have an aneurysm without a relief for her. But you seem a nice sensible girl,' she said, comfortably. Callista couldn't hold back the grin of pride that a patient should have faith in her abilities.

'Open, please,' she requested politely, and the patient obliged. She was feeling more confident every minute, and look at that? She hadn't even fainted yet.

* * *

**A/N: WELL, WELL, WELL.**

**Yeah, I'm really late. Sorry folks. But yeah ... apart from general inconsequential chatter about how college and life and stuff are so gushingly busying, I actually had the heart-rending experience of a full on DEAD laptop to contend with. I was gripped with the true fear of losing ALL THE THINGS which was terrifying, as I'm a total noob about backing things up ... might have had to go back to my pre STID days, which would have been, lets be honest, fairly dire.**

Thanks as ever to my wonderful talkative bunnies, Cuckoo, RolodexThoughts, MariadoaBarrelroll and Anon22! I haven't had time to get back to you yet since my first task on recovering my laptop has been to frantically post this chapter ... to my mysterious 'Guest' thanks for the review, I will surely get back to you next chapter!

Thanks for holla-ing at yo' girl, folks. I'll holla back asap.

**Thanks to all the lurkers, you guys crack me up, love it. ENJOY CHAPTER HURRAY MCCOY FIN**


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